Selected Memories

"You Can't Go Home Again" is a novel by Thomas Wolfe, but the title is probably more famous than the book itself.  I only quote it because it pertains to a recent trip I made back to Sin City and the scene of 'crimes' as such'; although I'd argue that the only crimes committed were those I committed against myself.

Back in November 2011 when I first started this journal, I had lost nearly all of my possessions, including my camera. That deprived me of the chance to illustrate some of my postings with pictures of some of the neighborhoods and various locations I frequented during my period of homelessness (hm, maybe a better title for this post might have been "You Can't Go Homeless Again").  Unfortunately, I couldn't take pictures inside the Salvation Army headquarters where I spent a lot of time during my rehabilitation, as such.

However, in the picture below you can see the exterior of that building located on Owens Avenue in North Las Vegas. That large building behind the trees houses almost all the SA's operations:  The first floor contains administrative, kitchens, learning centers, recreational and mess areas.  The second and third floors comprise the dorm areas for men and women.  The basement contains laundry and maintenance services.  I spent time in almost every service area on every floor.

While you can see one or two homeless figures in the foreground, there are dozens more located just up the sidewalk.  That's where they hang out waiting for the free daily meals.  I did actually try to snap a few pics of them, but essentially got chased off by a few guys who took exception to my 'invasing their privacy" as they put it.  There were several other stragglers milling about directly across the street from here.  During the late afternoons and evenings that entire sidewalk is often crowded with the homeless and their various accouterments:  Suitcases, bags, trunks, cardboard boxes flattened for sleeping on the sidewalk, and the occasional dog or cat.

Jerry's Nugget Casino, a 50-year fixture of North Las Vegas, is pictured above.  It often served as a place of respite from the SA campus although I'd still see plenty of familiar faces here.  Many guys from SA had hardcore gambling addictions and would come here to play the slots, 21, or place various sports bets.  They would rarely drink here, however; SA always performs Breathalyzer tests upon returning to their property.  If a client tested positive they were temporarily evicted from the dorms and made to spend 24 hours on the streets ... Reason enough for abstinence, imo.

The homeless roam up and down these streets (N. Las Vegas Blvd. is pictured here) 24/7.  It's likely one reason the security personnel in the casino cast a wary eye on anyone who enters the building. Many -- like myself -- visited the place mainly to use their restroom facilities.  Given that many of the indigent tend to use such facilities to bathe or wash their filthy laundry ... well, you get the idea. Needless to say, the whole area is rife with all forms of vice, the most common being drug dealing and prostitution.

The Palomino Club (pictured above) is across the street from Jerry's Nugget and has been world famous since '69 ... what a coincidence.  Another of the area's landmarks.  I was never out late enough to see any of the dancers arrive.  I did see a number of homeless guys camping out in front during the day, though.  Maybe they thought they'd get lucky.

Another view of Owens Ave, facing west.  The SA building is farther up on the left.  A church is just to the right.  Charitable groups often set up stations for free food, water, clothing, etc. adjacent to that building.

It was interesting to return to this area after approximately a year and a half at the Grand Canyon.  This urban area seemed more bleak and barren than I recalled; perhaps it only seemed to because I've grown so accustomed to the open spaces and magnificent vistas of the GC.  But there's a barrenness of spirit here as well, as though this part of Las Vegas has absorbed the desperation and hopelessness of its indigent inhabitants, and reflected it back.  I don't know how it happened but you could call this area a kind of Mecca for the dispossessed; somehow, they all make the pilgrimage here ... and often stay.

That might be thing that affected me most during my brief return visit:  That I saw so many familiar faces still there, going through the same motions and repeating the same behaviors as they had when I last saw them some 18 months ago.  Funny ... I felt something like a conquering hero when I first returned there.  After all, I had departed Vegas on a Greyhound bus with a few hundred dollars to my name.  I returned in my own car, still gainfully employed and doing pretty well (and had a few more hundred dollars to my name, lol).

But that sense of triumph dissolved into a kind of despondence after walking along once familiar sidewalks and streets.  I'm out of harmony with that area, its inhabitants and it attendant lifestyle now -- which is a good thing.  But to see so many people essentially exactly where I had left them after my time away, well, let's say I cut short my visit earlier than I had intended.  Sadly, from what I saw during my sojourn in Sin City, the homeless situation is likely worse, not better.

And Your Humble Narrator?  Much like The Dude, Your Humble Narrator abides.  More pics, reflections and an off-putting encounter coming up ...

Canyoneering 5: YHN, GCBS

So it's less than a week from Xmas and the Grand Canyon is looking like a winter wonderland.  Just when I thought the snow would bypass us (out of consideration of Your Humble Narrator's disdain for the white stuff) -- BLAM -- we get hit with 10+ inches of the crap.  And of course as temps begin to warm up enough to melt the snow we get another 3" last night.  Snow is one of the primary reasons I moved to Las Vegas.  I lived there for some 12 years without seeing a snowflake (just other flakes of the human variety); another dozen snow-free years would be more than welcome.

Not that YHN is a stranger to snow.  After all, I grew up in the midwest so I'm somewhat used to inclement weather.  But it has been difficult to readjust to maneuvering across slippery roads and treacherous black ice.  I've slipped and fallen several times recently trying to navigate slick surfaces.  I finally gave in and spent the $$ on some 'STABILicers' kind of like snow chains for your shoes.  Happily, I've not slipped or slid since; hell, I can traverse these Arctic conditions like a giant penguin!

It's very pretty ... Pretty damn annoying!

Perhaps it's due to the time of the season, but I find myself thinking about time and how it seems to constantly slip away.  Curious, because approximately a year ago at the Salvation Army time seemed to stand still.  It felt as if I'd never get out of there, like I could never break free of my circumstance.  Now, at the Grand Canyon, time has seemingly resumed its linear flow.  Yet even here, time can play tricks on you. Sometimes it feels as if there is no such thing as 'time' per se; at least not as something that can be measured or categorized.

One could argue that this very location is somehow timeless in and of itself.  Or perhaps it’s because we’re rather cut off from civilization; consequently, we often aren’t up to date with all the latest news from the outside.  Indeed, one temporal phenomenon that affects almost every employee in the GC is this:  We often have a difficult time remembering what day it is.  One day is essentially like the other within the park.  There are times when terms like “Monday,”  “Saturday,” etc. completely lose their meanings.  There are simply days and nights that seem to steadily dissolve from one to the other without regard for how we humans care to measure time.

What a roundabout way of saying it’s been a long time since my last post.  Here we are, very close to Xmas and 2013 and Your Humble Narrator has been in the GC for approximately six months.  Odd, because when I originally landed here from Vegas I intended to leave the GC sometime between Thanksgiving and Christmas.  Well, it looks like I’ll miss that deadline.  Indeed, I might be here in the GC for the time being.  So what happened?

I guess I’m experiencing what is a fairly common occurrence for many employees:  The GC grew on me.  Many people who have spent 5-10+ years in the park tell a similar tale:  They come here planning on staying for months and end up staying for years.  They find careers here; they marry and raise families here; they find a home here.  While it’s too early to tell if I actually want a career (or a family) in the GC, I think I have found a home, however temporary.

Remember, when I arrived here from Salvation Army, I was essentially homeless with maybe $75 to my name.  I had lost almost everything I possessed, found myself in situations I could never have anticipated; it was a classic ‘it-could-never-happen-to-me’ scenario – except that it did happen.  At best I could say that when I had a mid-life crisis, I had a mid-life crisis.  At any rate, I found myself hurtling through changes in lifestyle, attitude, and circumstance that left me in a state of bemused numbness.  And that’s pretty much how I felt when I arrived at the GC.

While I initially planned to save up just enough cash to return to Vegas and restart my former life there, something interesting happened.  I began to enjoy living in the GC, something I could never have anticipated upon arrival here.  I think it began with appreciating the immensity of the landscapes and vistas.  Then  there’s the small community here with people who are very friendly, helpful and outgoing.  And while I never imagined working as a ‘cafeteria worker’, I actually did begin to take satisfaction from performing the job, regardless of how menial and tedious it could be at times.

That’s something I find inexplicable; in the past I would have laughed at the notion of me working in such a job.  But while I was at SA I decided to use those experiences – as unfortunate as they may have been – as an opportunity to learn from my circumstances.  That meant learning the jobs, learning from bosses and coworkers and basically focusing on the job at hand (no pun intended).  I tried to learn as many details as possible about whatever gig I was given.  In a sense I was trying to focus on anything other than my shitty circumstances.

So I think that philosophy carried over here to the gig at the GC.  Sometimes I actually looked forward to work.  I was content to be a line-server, and slop food onto plates.  Along the way I learned as much of the operation as possible – not just about  the Canyon Café where I worked, but about the entire Food & Beverage Department run by Xanterra Corp. here at the GC.  I found I liked talking with the guests and learning about where they came from.  I displayed a good attitude, never caused trouble and have never been late or called in sick.

Why do I tell you this?  Because I feel like patting myself on the back?  No, actually.  It’s because I believe these are reasons why I got the nod for a new gig here at the GC.  YHN has transitioned from working in the café to the position of ‘Banquet Steward’.  I’m now part of a crew that sets up a lot of special events here.  That includes anything from Xmas and holiday parties to political town halls and weddings.  It's also recognized as one of the more coveted (non-managerial) positions in the park.  I'll explain more about that in the next post.

... One Year Later

You know those TV shows and movies where the story leads up to a dramatic cliffhanger and the screen blacks out and the legend "One year later ..." appears.  (Alternately, writers use the "24 hours earlier", "One year earlier", etc.)  I've always felt that device is some thing of a cheat.  Like the filmmakers didn't exactly know where to take their story after building it up to a dramatic point; they seem to have decided, "Hell let's skip ahead a year and fill in the details as we go along".

While I think it's something of a cheat and cliche when used in film/TV, wouldn't it be cool if you could use that device in real life?  Magically skip ahead X amount of time to a given point in your life where everything has turned out fine.  I wish I could have done that over the past year.  You see, while you might view Halloween as a time to trick or treat, I'm afraid it marks a bitter anniversary for You Humble Narrator.  It was about a year ago that I became homeless.

Yes, things certainly did build up to a climax:  I succumbed to major depression, lost most of my possessions and money (not to mention my pride), was evicted from my apartment and literally wound up on the streets of Las Vegas with no where to go.  (If you'd like to read my tragic tale in detail, please refer to earlier posts of this blog entitled "HINJFCA"; you'll learn what the clunky acronym stand for.)

During the past year I traveled a path I could have scarcely imagined. I arrived at the Salvation Army of North Las Vegas with less than $100 to my name (if not for the generosity of a cousin I would not have had even that much).  I encountered circumstances and people I had only read about or seen portrayed in the media.  I effectively became part of a shadow society of beggars, drifters, and malcontents.  I sometimes marvel that I didn't simply fall in with many of those who have chosen to take their chances on the streets.

You might not believe how easy it is to make the choice to simply abandon society, cast away responsibility, and lose yourself in the anonymity of the streets.  All it takes is for a person to lose so much that making the effort to regain it isn't worth the effort.  Many have chosen to find comfort in the filth and danger of the streets.

During the past year I was a client in the SA vocational program.  I worked in food service for the first time in my life.  I went to culinary school and learned basic cooking and garde manger (well, sort of).  I made friends with people I would have not long ago deemed as undesirable:  Ex-cons, junkies, thieves of all sorts, hookers, and those with questionable mental stability.  I tried to learn as much as I could from them and about them.  In some ways, I think the process helped me learn about myself:  That I wasn't as fucked up as I feared I was.

Time made events into a kind of blur.  I applied for and was accepted for a job at the Grand Canyon, where I presently live.  I think the change in atmosphere from the urban jungle of Vegas to the rugged landscapes of the GC have acted as a tonic of sorts.  For whatever reason I've felt revitalized since coming here.  The work is somewhat tiresome but it's easy to save money, and I don't feel the day to day pressures of living in a large city. I like many of the people I've met here, especially those from overseas.  The atmosphere is, overall, agreeable.  I actually grew up in a village; now, decades later it seems I have found some degree of peace in another village some 7000+ feet in elevation.

 The experience of the past year has been humbling to say the least. I could never have guessed these events would have taken place in my life.  In some ways this experience has served as a time of re-examination and reassessment.  It has made me appreciate the things I previously took for granted.  In some ways it feels as though I have been broken down piece by piece, atom by atom, into my base elements.  And slowly, piece by piece, atom by atom, I am being reconstructed, re-forged if you will, into something new; hopefully into something better than before.

There are any number of lessons I could take away from this experience.  Here's one:  I guess if you really want to survive, you'll find a way to survive.  Forces unseen will somehow come to assist you if you really want to survive.  I say this because there was a time in the past year where I wasn't sure if I did wanted to go on.  I only wanted everything to go away;  I wanted the pain to go away.  Instead, the pain got worse. But I survived it; I'm still surviving it.  So somehow, at my core I guess I did really want to survive after all.

I'm still here.

HINJFCA 34: Backtracking Part 2

In all honesty, It was difficult to say goodbye to Salvation Army. While they are sometimes viewed as a bunch of naive do-gooders ringing bells at Xmas and doling out soup and secondhand clothing, I know that's a gross misrepresentation.  I found the staff there to be frank and straightforward when informing clients of what was expected of them.  Their judgment could be harsh but I never felt it to be unfair.  Many clients who found SA too strict or unreasonable simply didn't want to comply with the rules or responsibilities they agreed to in the first place.

In my time there they gave me a place to stay, fed me, clothed me, sent me to culinary class and gave me some sense of direction and purpose when it felt I was ready to check out of this life. And while it was never smooth sailing, I must credit SA with helping me to reinstall a sense of discipline and restore a sense of structure to my life. The fact that I wanted out of there is actually a mark of success in my opinion. The clients who got comfortable with that lifestyle were the ones who often got kicked out and returned to street life.

It reaffirmed for me the fact that you can't help someone who really doesn't want to be helped. SA offers so many people the chance to change their lives, yet so many people seem to resent the effort. And it's usually because those people don't want to follow rules or guidelines. They don't want to give up their booze, drugs, or other addictions; they don't want to change.

At any rate it gratified me to know that many people there appreciated my efforts and considered me a good worker. It actually made the goodbyes more difficult. There are several people at SA that I will always respect, and I do miss them. Oddly enough, I miss arriving in the SA kitchens at 4:45am and drinking the too-strong coffee, and shooting the s**t with some of the guys. I honestly never thought I'd feel that way.  What I wouldn't give to hear the 70-something F growl in his NY accent, "I'm takin' a f**kin' break and havin' a f**kin' cuppa f**kin' cawfee and there ain't f**kin' s**t you can do about it!" Always understated,that guy.

Anyway it was time to move on, and after a few days of homesickness (or should that be 'homeless-sickness?') I settled into my new routine at Grand Canyon National Park. As your humble narrator is getting lengthy again, I'll wrap up by saying this: I think homelessness is as much a state of consciousness as it is a physical condition. I can best explain it with a great quote (from whom I forget): “I've been broke but I've never been poor. Being broke is a temporary condition. Being poor is a state of mind.”

Make of that what you will.

Next time: New Faces! New Places! New Adventures! Same old Humble Narrator!

HINJFCA 31: Countdown Commencing In 2 ...

As in 2 weeks. As in my final 2 weeks at Salvation Army. Yeah, you read that right: I m preparing to depart the SA – complete with honorable discharge (that's what she said) – in a mere two weeks. So consider this a formal 2 weeks notice for SA, Las Vegas, and the entire state of Nevada. Because I'm heading east, to ... But your humble narrator is getting ahead of himself. Last installment I promised to recount a few stories concerning some of the characters at SA, so let's get to that. And remind me not to get out of here with telling you abut the big change in lifestyle heading my way. (But if you just can't wait, there's a clue if you follow this link.)

'Beatdown Town'

Around a month ago a fellow client and kitchen co-worker named Truck (not his real name) scored a job at Crater Lake national park in Oregon. It sounded like a great deal: Nice location, a managerial position in their lodge kitchen, and a chance to save up some money. So a week before he's due to leave, Truck gets into a seemingly harmless argument with a guy in the SA kitchen. I witnessed the exchange between Truck (a 5'9, stocky black guy) and the other man (a younger white guy approximately the same height but far slighter of build). They got nose to nose with low, intense voices, neither of them willing to back down. At one point they actually went outside but onlookers broke up a potential fight in front of the cafe entrance. Upon re-entering the cafe, they exchanged parting shots with the younger guy exiting. Truck was still visibly upset when the security people showed up to take statements (your humble narrator kept his mouth shut) although he tried to laugh the matter off. Apparently the younger guy wasn't supposed to be in the cafe in the first place. Taking statements is par for most arguments of this kind. Security people mainly go through the motions on this sort of thing because guys woof at each other all the time in SA and little ever comes of it.

I wasn't a witness to the next part of the story, so I can only tell you what was related to me by my roommate. (FYI accounts of the following differ markedly) According to my roommate Hank, he was walking a few blocks from the SA campus near the St.Vincent/Catholic Charities complex. Truck suddenly ran up to him and said, “Hold this, man!” He gave Hank his cell phone, wallet and other small items. When Hank asked what was going on, Truck simply ran across the street. The younger guy from the cafe argument was there. Hank shouted for Truck to come back, but he confronted the younger guy on the sidewalk. Shouting turned into shoving, and wild punches were thrown. Truck dove at the younger guy's legs, hoisted him by the knees and body-slammed him to the cement. Truck then used his knees to pin the guy's arms and sat on his chest. Truck proceeded to deliberately punch the guy repeatedly, connecting with solid, deliberate shots to the face. Supposedly, you could hear wet 'popping' noises as Truck's fists hammered into the guy's face.

All the while, many homeless people sat and either ignored the event or watched with detached interest. No doubt they see this sort of thing frequently. Hank ran over and managed to pull Truck away, returning his stuff and telling him to get lost as the sound of police sirens drew nearer. Truck seemed to be in a daze, mumbling, “Thanks, man, sorry. I had to do it, man ...” He walked off and Hank took a moment to look at the damage done.

The younger guy was barely conscious. His face was beaten to the consistency of raw meat. We would later learn that he suffered a shattered jaw, a fractured eye socket and cheek bone, and several other injuries severe enough to put him in intensive care. (For the record, he did survive.) But before Hank could get away, he was detained by St.Vincent security officers and eventually questioned by police. Truck was ID'd by the guy and arrested later that night; I saw him led in handcuffs to the squad car. Hard to believe this was my co-worker and fellow student/client who was always so easy to get along with. He did have a temper, but I never thought him capable of such an action.

He would end up spending 24 days in jail (denied bond) because the guy didn't press charges and decided to move to Oregon. Most agreed that Truck dodged a bullet on that one; he could still be sitting in jail awaiting trial. His penance? Apparently no more than attending an 8-hour anger management class and he's paid his debt to society. Truck did lose his national park gig but SA allowed him to return to the kitchen. He's presently searching again for work.

When I saw him he told me his version of the story: He was walking along when the younger guy and three friends tried to jump him. Truck “knocked the f**kin' shit out that asshole” (his words) and the other three fled. “But all them bitches know they best respect my ass. You feel me?” Okay. Obviously, that conflicts with the version told to me by my roommate. Hank also had to tell his story to Vegas Metro detectives; he said it was like an episode of “Law & Order” (insert favorite franchise here) where he was taken to a small room and his statement was recorded. Hank was also summoned to attend Truck's court date although he never had to take the stand.

Many clients on the SA campus actually sided with Truck, supporting his actions regardless of which version of the story they believed. Some clients tried to make it a racial issue and another case of injustice for the black man. All I can say is that both parties were at fault (imo). There was no reason for the argument(s) to reach the level it did. As is often the case, the cause was something small. Here, the events stemmed from Truck telling the guy to take only one sausage for breakfast. The guy then threw a sausage link at Truck and it was on. All that grief over a sausage. Somewhere in porcine heaven, a piggie must be squealing with satisfaction. Truck is apparently none the worse for wear. In fact he seems to be enjoying something of a celebrity status since returning from jail, telling his tale of woe to friends who listen raptly. I worked with him earlier today serving the homeless breakfast and he's pretty much the same as before: Pushy, somewhat bossy at times, occasionally annoying. As usual, I pretend not to hear him and stay focused on what I'm doing. Truck is one of those guys I like overall, just not as a co-worker. Whatever. I'll keep the peace for two more weeks and resist any urge to throw sausage links at the guy.
Now, about that new j-o-b ... Ah, but it seems I've taken too long telling you about Truck. Guess I'll have to wait til the next installment. No, let's get it out of the way before you burst from frustration. Your humble narrator has scored a gig at a small resort located in the southwestern US. Ever hear of the Grand Canyon? Yup, that's how I roll. Go big or go home is what I say.

Anyway, I'll be working in one of the lodges or restaurants there basically as a food server. Fine with me because it doesn't involve cooking and it's a tipped position. Best, it fulfills my obligation to SA's culinary program so they won't sic the debt collectors from hell upon me. And I must admit the prospect of some new scenery appeals to me. So we'll see what develops. But for all intents and purposes the GC gig is a done deal. Next time: Eh. We'll figure something out. For now, that's a wrap!

HINJFCA Part XX4: When The Fan Hits The S**t

I've been busy of late, what with working at the Salvation Army , going to culinary class and battling a particularly vicious flu bug which seems to have migrated from my bowels to my chest like it was on Sherman's March to the Sea.  A big gripe about dorm living:  Why can't these sick, thoughtless bastards simply keep their malevolent microbes to themselves?

Let me take a few moments to proffer some updates in the ever-changing life of your humble narrator.  Graduation day for our culinary class is fast approaching.  That means we have to get serious about resumes and going out there in the "real world" to find j-o-b-s.  Because if we don't comply, SA then exercises its right to scatter us back to the streets from whence we came (or prisons for those on parole).  I've written a resume and have been submitting some online apps, but we don't have to 'officially' start the job hunting process until April 5.

Some of my classmates have already started their searches.  My ex-teammates in culinary class have had varying degrees of success thus far.  Rain Man seems to think he has an inside shot at a gig with the local Applebees.  Pitbull, though is the first to actually score a job.  He was accepted for service at Zion National Park as a cook and starts on April 11.  Good for him.  I've also considered working in the national parks/resorts system.  However ...

There are a few things I'm not crazy about re this sort of work.  These are often seasonal positions, although PB thinks he'll go year-round.  You still have to live in dorm-like settings: shared rooms, bathrooms, etc.  As stated, I hate dorm living.  No individual TVs allowed,  Often non-existent cell phone service due to the secluded areas.  You also have to pay your own way to and from the location.  For those reasons, I'm putting this sort of work on the back burner.  I'd rather have my own place and do what I like, when I like (and with whom I like to do it.)

Did you notice I referred to RM and PB as 'ex-teammates'?  Look, your humble narrator is an easygoing lad and his patience is legendary.  But everything has its limit and so does his patience.  Simply put, I got tired of seeing my 'teammates' doing all the work (including mine) while I was relegated to standing around and basically doing the dishes.  When I told them how I felt, it wasn't met with much enthusiasm and eventually turned into a shouting match inside the CSN kitchen lab with another class observing.  Let it be known your humble narrator simply tried to state his case while RM provided the shouting.  In the end, he only made himself look bad as was noted by several onlookers.  As for me?  My behavior was described as calm and reasonable.

The upshot was a meeting between myself, RM and two caseworkers.  In retrospect, it was not unlike meeting a divorce counselor as the caseworkers mainly nodded with indulgence and turned from RM to myself saying things like, "And did that happen?" or "How did you feel about that?"  Well, your humble narrator took the opportunity to put on a little show.  Nothing excessive mind you, but I made sure to let RM know I found his behavior to be little more than a petty annoyance; that I thought I had left this stuff behind in junior high school; and that I had little patience with such juvenile antics.  In fact, I found his behavior not unlike "a full grown man acting like a child and throwing a tantrum."

He wasn't throwing any tantrums that day, nor offering much in the way of a defense.  His face looked puffy and I wondered if he was forcing back tears.   Not necessarily  because of what I said but because he was frustrated at his situation.  I mentioned before that I found RM to be potentially dangerous because he doesn't exhibit a great amount of self-control.  It could be due to his retention of an institutional (read prison) mentality where he could get away with such tactics.  Or maybe it's just a character flaw.

It comes down to this:  Everyone is good at something.  Guys like RM might be good with slinging food but I'm pretty proficient with words and how to use them -- especially when it comes to speaking.  Simply put, had it been a boxing match I would've scored a 1st round knockout.  At the end, I added one final bit of discomfort for RM:  I made a grand gesture of offering my hand and saying I'm willing to be friends if he is.  Ha!  You should have seen the look on his face.  He didn't want to shake my hand, of course, which was plainly evident.  But he had to because the two caseworkers were right there.  I wanted them to see his reaction when I made the gesture.  In fact, I was hoping he'd refuse to shake my hand; that would've been the icing on the cake!

For now RM is still put out.  So be it. Interestingly, he had another argument with a different co-worker yesterday in the SA kitchens.  This resulted in another set-down with RM and the newly affected party.  My guess is he has some sort of personal problem(s) that are eating at him, accounting for this argumentative behavior.  Still, two outbursts within a week that require meetings with the higher-ups?  Not good.  As I've often said you can have all the technical know-how in the world.  But how successful can you be if you can't make people want to work with you?

I finally managed to switch teams by going directly to our new instructor, Chef Y.  When I explained my frustration, he readily agreed to the switch and it was made that same night.  I think he'd noticed the tensions in our group and how much of the assignments RM and PB seemed to do on their own.  It wasn't a team per se.  It was two guys and me.  Well, now I'm on a team that better compliments my personality and it looks like this switch will work out best for everybody.  Actually I seemed to gain some points from my other classmates because I managed to pull of the switch.  You see my friends, never mess with a small bald man who knows how to make words cut like a sword!

Time is winding down, more updates later.  That's a wrap!

Try this link for a One Way flash to the disco past!

HINJFCA XX3: The Awesome Aftermath

I won't keep you in suspense.  For my culinary cooking final grade I scored an 86 overall, or a 'B'.  I was surprised to say the least; I was expecting something in the C or D range.  Seeing that B actually made me feel a trifle guilty and relieved at the same time.  My relief is obvious; I'm now assured of gaining the college credit for which I primarily took the course.  But my guilt?  That might need a bit of explanation.

See, I skated by with a minimum of effort.  Really, I don't enjoy the process of cooking, so it's kind of a hassle every time I enter the kitchen lab.  To be honest I simply didn't hand in or complete certain assignments.  And to be honest, I didn't do all that great on the written final (if the Chef hadn't allowed us 20 minutes of open book reference, I would have been totally cooked).  But the reason I feel guilty is because had I put forth some more effort, I might have gotten a B+, maybe even an A/A-.  The difference between an A and B can be worth thousands of dollars if/when you apply for a grant.

This is the way I've always been, though, at least when it comes to school.  You know the old cliche about a student 'not applying himself'?  That's me.  I've always done just enough to get passing grades, at least when it came to subjects I didn't like.  And as you know by now I little affinity or aptitude for the culinary arts.

So it did come as good news when my caseworker addressed my concerns on this matter:  Namely, how am I expected to get a job in a restaurant when I really suck at cooking?  That's one of the catches about this Salvation Army culinary program.  Upon graduation you're expected to be a cook of some sort (which makes sense since other peoples money has been invested in you to do just that).  However, I was told -- off the record, of course -- that the main requirement can be tweaked to read thusly: The graduating student must obtain a job in a food and beverage establishment.  I like that interpretation a tad better, don't you?

Other student in my class did well enough, considering their skill level and aptitude (or lack thereof).  My roommate  (who was convinced he would fail and that life as he knew it was over) scored a C.  He was visibly relieved and remarked, "Those f**king assholes, I think I deserved a C+!"  Can't satisfy some folks, I guess.  Other students ranged from the B+ to C range.  I don't think anyone got lower than a C-.  If so, they didn't admit it (I don't blame them). 

Only two students got A's:  My teammate Rain Man and a girl I'll refer to as Ms Moodswing (MM) due to the emotional highs and lows incurred by her numerous medications.  She's the attractive girl who once told us all about her druggie days that ranged all over Sin City.  I was surprised to learn my other teammate, Pitbull, scored a B+; I expected him and RM to come in 1-2 in grading.  I think PB might have had some points for professionalism knocked off because he got into loud arguments with a couple of other classmates.  Otherwise he seems like one of the more adept student in the class.

(Sidebar about PB:  Some of his behavior is likely due to strong medication for depression and anxiety among other ailments.  He takes 1000mg of some potent pill; I don't know what it does but he said, "Man, I've got so much s**t going on I need something to mellow me out."  Sounds like a dosage fit for a depressed elephant.  You may also recall that PB has a bit of a racist streak (his arguments were with black classmates).  Here's something to consider:  Recently I saw him drive to the SA campus with his mother in the shotgun seat and a guy riding in the back. I know his parents are divorced, so the guy in the back was mom's boyfriend (this was later corroborated for me by an independent source).  When they got out of the car, he hugged his mother and stiffly shook hands with the boyfriend -- a black man.  Connect the dots.)

This new phase of the culinary course is conducted by a short, heavyset Filipino guy we'll call Chef Y.  He seems pleasant enough and explained to us that he has 10+ years experience as a professional chef before he became a teacher at CSN.  Interestingly, he was a chemical engineer before turning to cooking, his true choice of career;  this seems to be a fairly commonplace story among the cooks and chefs that I've met thus far.

The focus in Chef Y's class is primarily on preparation of cold dishes, which I actually find somewhat interesting.  We're also working on things like sandwiches (the little artsy-fartsy kind that look like sculpture) and breakfast foods.  For instance, your humble narrator made his first ever poached eggs the other night; I never even knew what they looked like before.  Eggs have been a key point thus far, but I've never been able to eat them unless they're scrambled.  I've never gone for whole yolks in my eggs because they look like great, yellow eyes staring back at me.  Go figure.

We had a meeting for culinary students recently concerning our final exam.  It's actually going to be a grand finale dinner of sorts that we prepare for a selected guest list.  The dinner occurs on our final day as students (April 4).  It'll be a long day, beginning at 5-9am in the SA kitchens, then 10-?pm at the CSN campus where the repast will be completed.  After that, it's everyone for themself in terms of the ensuing job search.  A caseworker kept noting that this is the last time "you'll ever work as a team." 

That didn't exactly cause anyone to shed tears.  In fact, this same caseworker told me (off the record, of course) that my class was the worst they'd seen in terms of cooperating with each other.  It was also noted that some students like RM have already begun their job searches.  RM in fact seems confident he's already got a gig lined up at a local restaurant and plans to move out the day following graduation.
 
Well, he has a lot of years in the culinary field.  I expect my job search will take longer, but I am starting to scout around potential places for employment and have begun to fill out applications online.  I was talking with a fellow student about our post-graduation plans, and what positions(s) we might be interested in.  He told me he thought I would make a good manager.  Not to brag, but a couple of other people have told me that as well.  I obviously take it as a compliment.  But when I mention that I have no experience in this field and am not particularly adept at cooking they often say something along these lines:

Any establishment you go to will likely train you from the ground up because they want you to learn their system.  Even grads from noteworthy culinary institutions like Cordon Bleu don't start off as chefs.  Most likely they'll start off washing dishes because the management wants to see who is dependable and who is willing to do the work.  Only after they're convinced of your solid work ethic (or lack thereof) will they start training you for a certain position.

Another bit of philosophy I've been hearing time and again from those with management experience:  The best managers aren't always the ones with the most technical know-how.  The best managers are the ones who make their employees want to work for them.  I've seen this play out even in the SA/CSN culinary course.  My teammates RM and PB, as noted, are among the most proficient students in the program.  But I've also come to realize that, on a personal level, they are not particularly well thought of as individuals. 

I know this because I tried to switch teams with some other people in my class.  While they all respected the skills of RM and PB, no one was willing to switch positions with me.  Basically, it boiled down to the fact that no one wanted to work with RM or PB.  Now view that in managerial terms -- do my teammates evince the quality of making people want to work for them?  From what I've seen, RM is so convinced of his skills that be can hardly brook any disagreement, even to the point of contesting the chefs opinion when they point out a mistake he made.  He does tend to be thin-skinned and impatient.  PB likely comes off too abrasive for people to warm up to.

And then there's your humble narrator, who seems to get along with everyone.  Am I really such a great guy?  Not necessarily.  I'm just to lazy to get agitated and argumentative with anyone; personally, I find such aggravation a waste of my valuable energy.  And besides, I'm not looking to get punched out.  Anyway, maybe I'll raise my sights and expectations a bit higher.  Who knows, maybe I can 'charm' myself into a decent position (one that hopefully does not involve grabbing my ankles).

'You Made God Angry'

The other night I was talking with a fellow student in the SA client dining room when a strange-looking fellow ambled in.  He appeared to be in his mid-late 60s, was dressed in tattered clothes was bald headed with a bushy gray beard, and at over 6 feet tall appeared to weigh about 135lbs.  He looked like a homeless scarecrow.  As he walked to the microwave to heat up a can of soup I was about to make a sarcastic comment to my classmate when his face lit up and he jumped out of his seat, ran to the strange guy and said, "Hi, Clay!"

Turns out my classmate knew this guy from earlier encounters on the street.  As I discovered, Clay is something of a homeless celebrity, having been featured in local newspaper write-ups, and on local TV coverage of the homeless problem.  Some of this media attention led to his getting an apartment and all kinds of donated food, clothes, and apparently lots of money.  I don't know why he's at SA right now, but he said something about accepting these donations that stuck with me throughout the night.  I'll pass it along to you.

Clay said that in his 15+ years on the streets, he once lived in a broken down van near a church in Bakersfield.  The minister and his wife would occasionally bring him food and vital supplies.  They passed on his story to a local business owner who arranged for Clay to get a job, and apartment, and the chance to start over.  But Clay turned it down.  He said he just didn't want to give up his freedom (on the streets).  he later saw it was a selfish thing to do.

Later, the minister's wife stopped by the van and told him he'd have to leave.  They thought he was ready to leave the streets, but apparently they were wrong.  Clay had never seen the minister's wife so angry.  When he asked why she was so harsh, she explained. "You made God angry.  Someone tried to give you a blessing.  When you refuse someone's blessing, God won't bless them."  By refusing someone's blessing (gift, donati on, etc), you rob them of the chance to be blessed by God.  I had honestly never thought of that.

Clay said that every since he has always graciously accepted any gift (help, assistane etc.) offered to him.  In that way he is blessed and so is the person offering the gift.

Makes me wonder how many gifts/blessings I have turned down over my lifetime.  How many times have I refused offers of help or assistance because  of pride or a willingness to admit my weaknesses?  And how many people were robbed of their own blessing due to my refusal?  Guess you could say that when you count your blessings, you should count the blessings of others as well.

That's a wrap!

HINJFCA Part XXI: Days Of Our Knives

Well friends, it's over.  I did my best and that was all I could do; my fate now rests in the laps of the gods.  Hopefully they're not getting a celestial lapdance as I await the outcome of my efforts.

Of course I'm talking about my final exam for the culinary course I've been taking.  It was a 2-part exam with the practical (cooking) portion a couple of days ago and the written part yesterday.  How did I do?  Still won't know for sure until next week, but I'm not optimistic about my chances.  I guess I didn't do myself any favors when I didn't study for the damn thing.  Yes, I actually do have an excuse -- I was overly tired from an excessive schedule of work and school -- but that doesn't change the fact that I likely screwed up.

There is some good news, believe it or not. The written exam accounts for only 30% of our grade.  As it stands, I hear that everyone but two students had A's (don't know who they are, maybe it's me) before the final.  The chef is evidently a lenient grader and the curve must be off the charts.  Whatever, I'll take it.  But I wonder how the best students feel knowing that even the underachievers will get passing grades?  Kind makes me think about that parable in the Bible about the merchant and his prodigal son.

Friends, there are times when things become so fouled up they can only be referred to as a clusterf**k.  That is the term I would use to define my experience thus far with the culinary class.  It's not a bad course; it's simply a round hole and I'm a square peg.  As I told Chef X upon turning in the written final:  "I've learned a valuable lesson from your class.  I'm much better at eating food than I am at cooking it."

Note that while he chuckled at my comment, he didn't disagree with me.  At least I didn't utter a sappy "thank you-I've learned-so-much" line as did most of my classmates.  I'd like to think Chef X will remember me as a laconic realist; or at least a disgruntled loner.  Sometimes I think they're quite similar, really.

And as we close the cookbook on Chef X, Monday we begin a new chapter with the garde manger phase of the culinary course.  How that will progress is anyone's guess.  But rest assured your humble narrator will be here to chronicle  all his food-centric experiences with alacrity and enthusiasm (depending upon how much Red Bull I've guzzled on a given day).

In the meantime, let me give you a few quick hits re other stuff going on at the Salvation Army Vocational Center:

I spoke with my caseworker recently about whether or not I must get a job as a cook upon graduating from this course.  The official line is, yes; the job must involve cooking.  Unofficially I'm told the graduate my get a job in a "food and beverage establishment."  I expect I'll go the unofficial route.  I'll also likely hedge my bets and look for a gig outside the culinary field.  Who knows, I might work two jobs just to build up savings all the more quickly.

Some new women moved into the building recently, apparently still in their prison blues.  Really, this place is like a halfway house.  Some of the prison/street behavior has gotten so out of hand as to attract the notice of higher-ups around the campus.  This is evidenced by the behavior of M. who is a large black woman, 35ish and on parole.

It's not uncommon to hear her shouting profanities at the top of her lungs while she works alongside us in the kitchen.  She's often saying these things in a joking manner, but it's still jarring to her things like, "Boy if anyone try to steal my money I'll knock the f**k out the motherf**ker!"  This comment she blurted out of the blue when no mention was made by anyone about stealing money -- hers or anyone else's.

She's gotten into arguments with customers about "ain't no special orders, sir.  Why don't you take your skinny little ass to Mickey D's before I slap the piss outta you!"  And talking about her busted relationships:  "I got five kids with four different men.  They all some deadbeat n***as.  Broke-ass motherf***ers won't do a goddam thing to help me.  I am so tired of these dead-ass n***as, I will never f**k another!"

I overheard a supervisor telling her she had to tone it down.  When she looked confused, the supervisor explained there were complaints about her profanity, and that she had to ease up on the "street s**t.  You ain't on the street now and you ain't behind bars.  People out here don't understand that s**t.  It won't fly out here."

Her response?  "Who did the complaining?"  The supervisor said, "It-doesn't-matter.  It could've been anyone.  Just tone it down."  He mentioned that he had a couple of other people to talk to as well.  Not surprisingly, all of those he mentioned are here on parole.  It's odd, but it seems like a lot of these parolees here seem to believe they're entitled to bring their prison-centric behaviors and attitudes into society regardless of how offensive they might seem to others.

(Note that I'm picking up writing this blog after several hours due to a server malfunction.  Pardon me if there are any lapses in syntax or any other terminologies I don't completely understand.  Then again, that might be par for the course.)

all too often -- it seems to me -- society tends to tolerate certain, shall we say, faux pas from one segment of the population that would be deemed inappropriate if committed by another segment of the population.  A case in point might be the use of the n-word.  (Btw if you can make any sense of the preceding drivel, please drop me a line an explain it to me.)

Some might argue this has something to do with the 'liberal agenda' or somesuch.  All I can say is that insofar as such an agenda wants to level the playing field to make things "fair" for everyone, I'm all for it.  So long as it suits my objectives, of course.  A case in point would be the generous grading curve afforded us by Chef X. 

Then again, maybe it has more to do with we students being associated with the Salvation Army; maybe there's a different grading system for us.  A system that takes into account our hardships and travails and whatnot.  Maybe the powers that be figured, "Hey these SA folks have it tough enough without getting a D or F on their transcript.  Give 'em a break and pass 'em all!"  Yeah ... and maybe monkeys might fly out of my butt.

So with that visual, I'll leave you to enjoy he rest of your day/night/whenever you're reading this thing.  More fun stuff coming up ... Not here of course, but somewhere -- look for it!

Quote of the day:
"I'd never eat in a restaurant that would hire me as a cook."
-- Your Humble Narrator

HINJFCA Part XX: Stick A Fork In It

First, allow me to apologize for not maintaining a regular update for this blog; I know how that must upset all my readers (both of them). But you must realize that your humble narrator has been quite busy of late, what with all the schoolwork and full time work sked keeping me more occupied than I imagined (or desired).

This really will have to be a brief post because in a mere 90 minutes I go to face my destiny. I go to look the into the abyss eyeball to eyeball. That's right: I'm headed to school for part one of a two-part final exam. What is the general feeling of the students as we careen toward this penultimate showdown with destiny? Let me sum it up with a quote from my roommate and fellw student: “Life's pretty much over for me, man.”

Well, after surviving a mental breakdown and a bout of nearly losing myself to the mean streets of Sin City, my outlook is not that dire; not quite, anyway. If I fail this thing, it won't be the end of the world so much as a challenge: That being, how will I rectify the epic f**k-up that I've created?

As I've mentioned before, taking this cooking class has confirmed for me the fact that I hate cooking. There, I said it again. Thankfully, I've discovered that I am not the only one who feels that way. So I feel a bit less like a loner in that regard. I have also discovered that I'm not the only one dissatisfied with his team members.

Working with Rain Man & Pitbull turned into a nightmare. They both have an aptitude for this stuff and enjoy it. Honestly, they're very good cooks. When they saw how bad I was, they decided amongst themselves to do ALL the work, including mine. I essentially turned in and was graded for work I didn't do. The upshot is that I didn't actually learn to do the work for myself. And that's what will likely sink me in this part of the final, which involves preparing several recipes.

Somewhere along the way my teammates decided this was a competition, not a group effort where everyone was supposed to support everyone else. I'm not crying about it because I should have said something before. But it was kind of cool to have other people do my work for me. Well, I've learned a valuable After School Lesson, haven't I?

I really wanted this class for the college credit, not to be a cook. There's still the written exam tomorrow where I can make up some lost ground. And the second part of the program (garde manger) sounds more interesting than the misery I've been dredging myself through. As if that's not enough to buoy my spirits, how about this (a true story):

A few years ago, a Latina took the same courses I'm taking. However, she spoke little to no English. She apparently mucked up the cooking final. And for the written final she answered every question with 'Radish'. That's right. And she got her certificate of completion. (Not sure about the college credit, but I wouldn't be surprised if she received that as well.)

I'll share my miseries and/or triumphs with you later. For now, that's a wrap!

(Btw, I'm typing this on a netbook a dedicated reader sent me. I'm still learning how to use it, so do forgive any typos, etc.)

Quote of the Day:

“I've never known anyone that died and lived to talk about it.”